


Tumblr drabbles

by cullenlovesmen



Series: Prompt fills [12]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/F, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Ritual Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26406823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/pseuds/cullenlovesmen
Summary: A collection of ficlets and drabbles rescued from my deleted Tumblr account.IndexChapter 1: Sebastian/Fenris, fluff and humourChapter 2: Sebastian/Anders, bittersweetChapter 3: Cullen/M!Trevelyan, fluff and humourChapter 4: Cassandra/F!Trevelyan, angst and lossChapter 5: The Arishok/M!Hawke, public sex
Relationships: Anders/Sebastian Vael, Arishok/Male Hawke, Female Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast, Fenris/Sebastian Vael, Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: Prompt fills [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1258421
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Sebastian/Fenris, fluff and humour

A small smile plays on Fenris’s face as he folds the note Sebastian had handed to him, slips it underneath his armour — and then he catches Sebastian’s eyes, arching an amused brow. The elf is getting better and better at this; not too long ago, he would sit down and frown at the paper, trace the letters with his fingers — but now all he needs is a quick look. Sebastian couldn’t be prouder— 

oh, sweet Andraste, no— 

Hawke dangles the note in her fingers, fending off Fenris’s attempts at reclaiming it, turning her back to them both. Mortification has Sebastian rooted to the spot, and for a while, there’s nothing but the hammering of his heart, the cries of seagulls, and the humming of the sea; Fenris grimaces at him apologetically, but this is not his fault, so Sebastian responds with a tight smile. 

“I don’t know what I expected — no wait, I do,” Hawke hands the note back to Fenris, grinning at Sebastian, “thought it would be something dirty for sure,” Merrill perks up at the words, but Hawke continues before she can ask: “but a poem about Fenris’s smile — and not a bad one, at that — wasn’t it.”


	2. Sebastian/Anders, bittersweet

Morning light filtered through the windows of the Hanged Man and played with Anders’s hair, creating a golden halo around the man’s face — he was so peaceful in his slumber, his beauty almost ethereal. No jagged edges, no pained glint to his eyes, no… conflict.

Sebastian treasured these moments; when the world ceased to exist, when this — whatever this was — was easy; when he could burrow his face into Anders’s neck and an arm would wrap around him, tighten just so that Sebastian would know Anders was awake. 

But just as he knew they could never rent this room for more than a day at a time, he knew these moments were but a temporary refuge from the reality waiting to crash on them — and, oh, it was eager to remind them of who they were. 

He drank in the scent of his companion, pressing the texture of his skin into memory, praying he’d never forget the hue of Anders’s hair in the sun; this morning could well be the last of its kind.


	3. Cullen/M!Trevelyan, fluff and humour

Cullen wasn’t nearly as irritated as he should have been when Trevelyan barged into his office, completely unannounced, and made a show of looking for something, lifting books and peering under Cullen’s desk. Very well, he’d play along: “Did you lose something?”

The man straightened his posture, a crease forming between his brows as he regarded Cullen; “Yes, I believe I left my heart here last night, you rake. Where is it — and is it unharmed?”

Maker’s breath; Cullen wasn’t sure whether to laugh or sigh — or blush, for that matter — but while he considered the proper course of action, Trevelyan rounded the table and landed on his lap, continuing his search under Cullen’s mantle, and… well, Cullen found little reason to object.


	4. Cassandra/F!Trevelyan, angst and loss

Trev’s hair had been so soft under Cassandra’s fingertips; she could still recall the fresh scent of it, the feel of it against her neck as she held her lover tight. The sound of Trev’s hitching breaths — hurt, pitiful; like a wounded fox — still echoed in her ears, years later, filling the empty room with the hollow comfort the memory brought. 

She was gone.

Cassandra tightened her fist and brought it to her chest where Trev’s warm body had once leant, where her heart beat like nothing was amiss, like her loss wasn’t a phantom blade lodged deep within her — not letting her live, not letting her die. 

Only the walls witnessed the Divine doubling over in her chair, silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she succumbed to the memory, trembling as it submerged her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trev belongs to Natsora! Check out [her AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsora/pseuds/natsora) to read more about Cassandra and Trev.


	5. The Arishok/M!Hawke, public sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a birthday present to [Hollyand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand) back in 2019. <3

The Arishok sits on his throne. Tall, static, invincible — like a conqueror of old; a hero from a fable. The compound is still and silent; his men are gathered around, some watching the proceedings from atop the walls while others stand on the stairs. None of them move. 

A sacred ritual takes place on top of the Arishok. The bas that follow the basalit-an observe with wide eyes as a demand of the Qun is met — Hawke shows his allegiance; proves his worth. It’s important they see the joy of surrender — the bliss of finding one’s place — so they, too, may submit. If they are strong enough.

The basalit-an whimpers, breaking the silence, bobbing to an ever faster rhythm, his head falling back — but the Arishok holds steady, showing no weakness under the onslaught. The human is tough — enduring — but he will submit. The Arishok will see the demand satisfied, no matter how long it takes. 

Hawke shivers and groans, but doesn’t stop; he fights completion and rebels against time — a promising trait, never giving up. He will do well under the Qun.

When the man paints the Arishok’s stomach creamy white, he is basalit-an no more. “Shanedan, Sten.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are much appreciated. <3


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